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Tired of the echo of empty promises,
of sweet words that never bloom,
I intend to open my wings, to leave this nest,
where the ‘I love you’ torments and is not true.
I look to the horizon, I long for adventure,
a fleeting touch, an instant of ardour,
far from the farce that soils the height,
I prefer the spark to a false candour.
It is the game of risk, the art of the uncertain,
unwanted proposals, overflowing with reason,
leaving behind the weight of a future covered
by shadows of dreams, a cruel illusion.
In this stage that I sincerely embrace,
the beat of the instant calls me to dance.
Let the indecent and the freeing come,
that the false ‘I love you’ I put aside, just like that.